


no easy love could ever make me feel the same

by bemusedbicycle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Magic Killian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 15:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7513522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bemusedbicycle/pseuds/bemusedbicycle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian retains his magic. Emma attempts to help him control it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no easy love could ever make me feel the same

“Close your eyes,” her fingertips brush over his forehead, down the length of his nose. “Try and channel your emotion. Uh, think of something good.”

His eyebrow jumps and a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth.

She sighs. “Stop thinking about my boobs, Killian.”

He peeks one eye open and takes in the pink of her cheeks. She is radiant when she blushes, even more striking when a smile curls her lips. “While I marvel at your breasts, darling,” he presses a quick kiss to the dimple in her chin before settling back in the leather arm chair, eyes closed. “The sight I was imagining was the curve of your lovely behind.”

She snorts. “Try again, buddy.”

“I happen to think it’s worthy of such consideration.”

“Yeah, well,” he hears the soft crush of leather as she settles in the chair across from him, her feet coming to rest inside his own. “Whatever works. We need to get this under control. You can’t keep shattering every glass Granny owns every time you feel a swell of emotion.”

He opens his eyes and drags his tongue along his bottom lip. “Perhaps you should stop wearing those delightfully sheer tops, then.”

It was intended to be a simple lunch date the afternoon prior, but Emma had emerged from the back hallway of Granny’s in a sheer black tank top - creamy skin on display and the lace of her undergarment just barely discernible through the thin material. His magic licked along his spine before settling low in his belly, the pulse of it  hardly controllable as she tied her hair back in a ponytail, exposing the long line of her neck and the strength in her shoulders.

Granny had not been pleased.

She arches an eyebrow of her own. “Do you really want me to stop wearing those shirts?”

He huffs and drops his head back against the chair, eyes closed once more. “No.”

“Then let’s get it under control,” she taps her foot against his instep. “Think of something good.”

He tries to focus, but his mind is still much too distracted by the sheer shirts in question. A faint crash echoes from the hallway and he squints one eye open to find half of the coat rack angled awkwardly across the doorway.

“I fear the line of thought induced by your garments doesn’t do the trick, love.”

He always did have trouble quieting his mind. As a lad, Liam would create games for him to complete their tasks. Get him focusing on the thrill of challenge as opposed to the arduous labor of work. Of course that particular technique lost it’s luster when he found the allure of drink, but he supposes the guiding principles are the same.

Center your mind to silence the chatter. Channel that energy - that feeling - into something productive.

He wonders what Liam would think of his magic - if he would  think it a curse or a blessing. Most days even he can’t make a decision, frustrated with his inability to use the power that simmers just under his skin.

He sighs and opens his eyes, letting his head drop to his shoulder as he considers her.

“What is it that you think of?”

He notices she’s wearing his socks as she pulls her legs back to tuck her feet neatly under her, the navy blue ones with the light grey stripes she gifted him a couple weeks ago. He’s particularly enamored with the thick ones that pull up high, reminding him of a similar pair he had as a lad.

(He’s particularly enamored with the thick ones that pull high on Emma, how they tease the soft skin just above her knees. How she looks in them and nothing else, flushed and wanting.)

The fireplace roars to life in front of them, magic tingling in the palm of his hand.

“Apologies,” he mutters.

She waves her hand, her magic calming the flames. He can tell she’s gathering her thoughts, the crease between her brows painfully endearing.

“My dad cups the back of my head when he hugs me,” she begins quietly, shrugging when she meets his gaze with a small smile. He nods on in encouragement. “At first it drove me insane, but now I kind of like it. And you know when Henry gets carried away and starts rambling out of control?”

“Aye.”

“That, too. I still have some of the memories Regina gave me and I know they’re not real, but sometimes I think about what it was like to hold him as a baby. He was so small,” her smile tips wider and he feels a brush of warmth along his front, her hands glowing. She blinks and folds them in her lap, the pulse growing with her smile. “I think of you in the mornings, with the lines from the pillow still on your cheek and the way you grumble your way through getting dressed.”

He huffs, but his answering smile is inevitable. “I do not grumble, Swan.”

She laughs, full and loud, and there’s another, stronger brush of warmth against him. She presses her fingers to her lips as she quiets, her eyes shining. “Try again.”

He closes his eyes with one last look at the pink high on her cheeks, using that as a guide. These smiles are a rare thing, saved for the quiet moments. Dinners at the loft where he’s welcomed to the table as another member of the family, a mug of tea placed in front of him just the way he likes by Mary Margaret. Henry begging him to take him out on the Jolly, eager and exuberant, practically bouncing in his chair. A comforting pat on the back from Dave so much like the ones from his brother it makes his chest ache with it. Emma - Emma smiling at him from the sink, arms elbows deep in suds.

Emma kissing him in the hallway just outside, her breath catching in her chest when he sifts his fingers in her hair and tugs, angling her head further back, kissing her deeper until her hands fist in his shirt.

“Did you just pop the button on my jeans?”

He grins as he opens his eyes, delighted that he managed such a delicate maneuver. “I did, indeed.”

She looks down at her jeans and then back to him, surprise melting into a smirk. Unfolding her legs from beneath her, she rises from the chair, the buttons on his vest slowly undoing themselves as she comes closer.

She settles in his lap, knees on either side of his hips, her hands firmly tangled in his hair. He focuses on the way he can smell cinnamon on her skin, the brush of her hair against his forearms. She chuckles when her jeans disappear completely, her legs bare above him, nothing but his wool socks pulled high.

“Keep going,” she sighs into his mouth, catching his bottom lip between her teeth just as his hand smooths over her back. The fabric disappears as his hand slides low, and he grins at her gasp. “Think of something good.”

-/-

(He only shatters two lights this time.

It’s progress.)


End file.
